There, sat on my couch, was my best friend. His feet were propped up on my coffee table, black leather jacket laying on the spot beside him. His dark grey shirt made his blue eyes pop out. He looked at me with a confused expression.
"What's with the knife, dude?" He asked, his familiar high voice filling my ears, making me smile.
"I thought you were a robber or something," I said, walking forward and placing the knife down on the coffee table. "What are you doing here?"
I watched as he lifted his hand, a joint between his thumb and forefinger - my joint - and putting it to his lips, taking a drag. I rolled my eyes at him and took a seat beside him on the couch, him puffing out the foul smelling smoke and passing the joint over to me. I took a drag as well and the familiar, tingly sensation filled my lungs.
"Decided to come back," he replied, a grin playing on his face as he watched me make a perfect ring of smoke come out of my mouth.
"Didn't like Paris?" I asked. I remembered how pissed I had been when I found out Louis was leaving for Paris. I had gotten into this drug running shindig with him, he was my partner up until about six months ago. John had wanted him to go live in Paris for a while to run for another dealer.
Louis was very good at sneaking around, picking locks and lying his way out of everything. I look up to him in a way. He was eighteen and I was sixteen when we starting working together, and he taught me everything I know. It was weird running without him these past months, I felt more exposed. More in danger. But I got used to it.
"The dealer out there was shit," he said. "Only paid me a few pounds a run. I quit a while ago, I just couldn't afford a plane back until yesterday."
I nodded, locking eyes with him. He cracked a smile, showing off his straight teeth. I took notice to the little chip on the corner of his front tooth. It was barely noticeable, natural looking even, but it gave him character.
I smiled back as he took the weed from my fingers, sitting forward and crushing the burning embers in the ash tray that sat on the coffee table. He then stood up, straightening his dark shirt and reached down, grabbing my hand.
He yanked me up from the couch and wrapped his arms around my waist tightly, resting his head in the crook of my neck. He was a bit shorter than me, but it was still comfortable. I reached my arms around his shoulders and set them there, taking in the familiar scent of my best friend for many years.
"Missed you, buddy," Louis said as he pulled away, his hands still resting on my waist.
"I missed you, too," I replied, my breath hitching as his hand accidentally pressed against my stab wound that I had forgot about. I squeezed my eyes shut.
I felt him quickly retreat his hand in surprise. I opened my eyes again and saw how he was giving me a confused look. His eyes studied my face before they fell down my body to where his hands once were.
"What's under your shirt?" He asked, touching the little square outline of the gauze Niall had put on that morning.
I didn't have a chance to reply before Louis took the hem of my shirt and lifted it up high enough to look at the gauze. His forehead creased as he bent down a bit, his left hand reaching forward to touch the tape, peeling a corner up.
I winced as he ripped off the whole bandage, leaving a sharp stinging pain lingering on my skin. He sucked in a deep intake of hair as he looked at the somewhat deep gash on my body.
"How the hell did this happen?" He turned and tossed the bloody gauze into the garbage beside the couch, wiping his hand on his pants. I guess the bleeding didn't stop after all.
"I did a run last night in the north side-"
"Sounds bad already," Louis cut off, standing up to full height but still holding up the hem of my shirt.
I nodded, continuing. "The buyer got all pissed off and attacked me."
Louis' eyes narrowed as he cocked his head at me slightly. "What did he do to you?" He asked slowly.
"Stabbed me," I replied quietly, looking down at his hand on my shirt.
"Holy hell," Louis let out a short gasp.
"It doesn't hurt much anymore," I said. The gash didn't seem to be bleeding, and I could see that it wasn't deep enough to require stitches.
"Did you go to the hospital?" He asked, looking one last time at the wound before dropping my shirt, stepping back a little.
I shook my head. "You know how I feel about hospitals, Lou."
Louis crossed his arms over his chest, biting the inside of his cheek. An awkward silence filled the room before he spoke up again. "You didn't come home last night. So where did you get that bandage if you didn't go to the hospital?"
I shrugged before nudging past him, making my way towards the hallway around the corner, leading to the single bedroom in my flat.
I heard Louis sigh before following behind me into my room. The retched smell of marijuana slowly started to fade away as I entered, being replaced with the smell of expensive cologne I manage to steal off the sample tables at clothing stores.
I walked over to my decently sized bed against the wall and flopped down on the mattress, letting out a deep breath. I felt the end of the bed dip as Louis sat down, sliding himself up onto the duvet and resting his back against the cold wall behind him. I removed my arms from in front of my face and strained my neck so I could see him. He sat near my feet, his knees up and his forearms resting on them.
"Have you been here since yesterday?" I asked, suddenly curious.
"Yeah. I had no where else to go, so I just came here. You weren't around so I figured I'd just wait till you got home," he replied, turning his head to look at me. "But you didn't come home."
"I went to a friend's," I stated. Was Niall even considered my friend? I wasn't sure if I was able to call him that just yet.
"Who?" Louis asked, a frown playing on his lips.
I just shrugged, a blank expression on my face. Louis sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "No offence, Harry," he started, and I immediately knew he was going to say something insulting. "You don't exactly have any friends."
My eyebrows furrowed together, my face falling into a deep scowl. I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my bed placing my feet on the carpet. I stood up, turning to face my bright eyed friend.
"You've been gone for half a year, Louis. Things have changed," I raised my voice, making him roll his eyes. I just scoffed at him and stormed towards the bedroom door.
"Come on, Harry. You know what I mean," he called after me.
I ignored him and just decided to go out for a coffee. I patted my pockets to make sure I had the money John gave me and my phone. I slipped my converse back on and opened the door, only to have it slam back closed by another hand.
"Where are you going?" Louis asked, his voice cold but not intimidating. He stepped between the door and my body, causing me to back up.
I narrowed my eyes at him and shoved him to the side, grabbing the door handle. His forearm came down onto my wrist, knocking it off the knob. I winced slightly, but was glad that it wasn't the wrist with the bruise on it. That would've hurt a lot more.
"What the fuck is your problem?" He almost yelled at me.
I fake laughed, rolling my eyes in the process. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the wall, not meeting his eyes.
"Harry, you know what I meant," he said a bit softer, referring to the 'no friends' thing.
I brought my eyes up to his, turning my expression cold.
I was suddenly angry at Louis for leaving to Paris. He never called or texted for six whole months. It dawned on me how much of a dick move that was. He was my best friend, yet he never even showed a sign that he still knew I existed while he was off living the drug dream.
"A lot has changed since the minute you left for Paris," I stepped forward again, grabbing the knob and yanking the door open before Louis could react.
"But you never bothered to figure that out," I added, before walking out into the 6th floor's hallway, slamming the door behind me.
I was used to being without him anyways.